


Awakening at Dawn

by AdultWithSpareTime



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Awakening/3H Pairings, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rare Pairings, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdultWithSpareTime/pseuds/AdultWithSpareTime
Summary: Robin makes the ultimate sacrifice. Her love filled future with Chrom, her family, and the Shepherds is put aside to ensure the peace she and her friends fought for will last forever. As her magic courses through the heart of an eldritch god wearing her face, Robin's vision explodes in dazzling colors. She is surrounded by thousands of voices, and one strangely familiar face, then everything goes black.She wakes up in a cave filled with strange, perfect, geometric structures. Intrigued, suspicious, but disoriented and desperate to escape, she digs up until she finds the sky, but doesn't recognize the mountain range surrounding her—or the stars.The Hero Queen of Ylisse is in Fodlan, but won't be alone for long.
Relationships: Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Frederick (Fire Emblem)/Original Character(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 33
Kudos: 109





	1. Bone White Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene has brief descriptions of violence to a child and the death of a child committed by the bad guys. End of the scene is marked by a line break.

That night, the people of the holy city knew to not step outside their doors until sunrise, when the Grimleal’s business would be complete.  
  
They could not speak in public of what was to occur within the gaze of hidden watchers, not even to warn traders who braved navigating smugglers’ routes around the war’s front lines to sell whatever supplies they could. It was their fault for not understanding the signs. The clerics’ black silk shoes, decorated with gold baubles, plodded through the hot sand in time through the streets, chanting to their master who slept upon the holy mountain. They lead the horde of the damned, marching barefoot together in chains, the heavy clanking of iron echoing through every street and alleyway.  
  
If a Grimleal seized you, and you were not prominently wearing a golden tooth or scale, or if you were of a low caste, you would be taken, subjugated by their dark magic, your body quickly covered in black sackcloth and added to the procession, mindlessly marching toward your new destiny.  
  
It wasn’t just the unwary victim being added to the Grimleal’s sacrifice. The prisons had been emptied; the streets cleansed of undesirables. High caste political dissenters calling for an end to the war, accused Ylissian spies, the infirm, the politically useless among the indebted, all had been swallowed down the castle’s throat for some unknowable purpose. This was the largest group they’d ever gathered. The people of the city prayed to whatever god was listening that they would simply be left alone.

Deep within the mountain, the Heirophant’s consort, a particularly beautiful and powerful one this year, chosen from the best of the pegasus mages, had given birth to twins. Clerics chanted while healing her. “Praise to the dragon who will sow the desert with Naga’s blood. Return, the bringer of life in death.”

The dragon they prayed to wasn’t some coward who hid behind the veil of reality, like the green witch who ruled from the sky over the damned Halidom. Rather, it was the very dragon whose bones lay far above them, curled around Castle Plegia, the blessed Grima. Its body covered nearly all of the upper city, the bleached carcass seemingly immune to time, still holding its head straight above the sheer cliff that marked the mountain’s edge.  
  
Validar watched from his stone chair as the faithful continued to file into the chamber, echoing with songs to Grima. His consort lay behind him, breathing heavily from her just ended labor, tended to by a pair of clerics. His two children, however, were being prepared by six. How Grima had blessed him, validated his position among the faithful—or so he thought. Twins would surely seal the sacrifice’s success. The binding would be powerful.

Clerics moved the wailing babes away from their mother to the stone table in the center of the room, beneath the basin. Validar’s consort watched silently, eyes fixed on her children.  
  
One of the high priests, adorned in gold and purple as he was, approached him, kneeled, then reported. “The sacrifice is ready, Your Holiness.”  
  
Validar nodded, smiling. “Excellent,” he replied, voice stretched, savoring the moment. He rose from his seat and clapped three times. The chants went silent, but rose again once Validar started singing, following along immediately. The words were familiar and dear to them.  
 _  
_“Claws of the dragon, claim what is yours. The lifeblood of man is yours alone. Teeth of the dragon, claim what is yours. The soul of man is yours alone. Throat of the dragon, drink what is yours. Power and might are yours alone.”  
  
A beat after the verse ended, everyone gathered looked upward, screams suddenly audible through the thick rock above them. Once those screams began to dim, the chant continued and Validar stepped toward the stone table where his twins lay. He looked over them coolly, examining them. A boy and a girl.  
  
The male was smaller and quieter. Validar grabbed him by the arm, causing the child’s wails to grow louder, and held him above the altar. A chanting cleric held a large golden chalice just beneath the baby. Above them all was the rock cistern, quickly filling with blood as the screams of the dying went quiet.

Validar drew a bone dagger from his waist, carved from one of Grima’s teeth, and slit the boy’s throat. The chant grew in volume and intensity. Once enough blood was collected in the chalice, Validar handed the dead boy back to the midwife, who scurried away, chanting all the while.  
  
Validar then held his newborn daughter up to the Grimleal.  
  
“Look upon your savior.”  
  
The chant grew frantic.  
  
Validar set the child upon the altar, covered her in purple and gold cloth, and then his bishops descended, preparing for the infusion. As enchanted tubes, painstakingly crafted from animal gut, were inserted into the girl’s nascent arteries and hooked up into the full cistern, Validar held up his hands, calling for silence.  
  
A valve was turned. The blood began to flow through her small body. The infant screamed. A cleric took the golden goblet filled with her brother’s blood and siphoned it to the flowing river, interspersed among the rest of the nameless dead, who will live again through her. Minutes passed. An hour, all waiting for the confirmation of their hopes.  
  
Then, like the blooming of a flower, the girl’s small tuft of auburn hair turned to stark bone white. The six-eyed brand of Grima appeared on her right hand, rising to the surface of her skin from beneath. Cheers erupted. Validar smiled, filled with triumph. Overjoyed, he began to chant, hands held high in worship.  
  
“Praise to the vessel, Grima in flesh! Daughter of the dead, give Plegia life! Death to Naga’s daughters! Death to Falchion’s sons! Ten thousand times this blood be born from your hands! Ten thousand times this glory be given to Grima!”  
  
The girl continued to cry and scream.

* * *

Robin woke up with a clipped scream, frantically reaching for her sword. Chrom, sleeping fitfully beside her, woke with a yelp as his wife crushed his thigh with her sword hand. Robin jolted again, half-remembering where she was, staring up at the royal cabin’s roof, processing, looking around, reassuring herself. The cabin was gently lit with mag-light, in case her and Chrom needed to gear up quickly. Her clothes, gear, weapons, desk, tomes, maps, and sundries were on her side of the small room. His clothes, gear, and weapons, including Falchion, sheathed so its new glow was hidden, and the completed Fire Emblem, each stone in its proper place, were on his side. They were swaying front to back, their ship riding the edge of a squall to capture as much speed as possible.  
  
This was reality. Not that same damned vision, again.  
  
Also, she needed to let go of her husband’s leg.  
  
“Augh, gods, Robin,” he mumbled sleepily in protest, just before she eased her grip.  
  
“Sorry. Sorry,” she whispered, worn thin. She continued staring up at a dim swaying lamp for a few heartbeats, breathing slowly in and out, then turned in their shared bed toward him, scooting close under their light blanket, wrapping an arm around him.  
  
After a moment, forgetting his now likely bruised thigh, he put his arms around her back and head in turn. “Same nightmare?”  
  
“Yeah.” He was warm, and so, within the cold and damp of their commandeered Valmese ship, she clung to the living sauna that was Chrom. “Just Grima reminding me why it should be dead.”  
  
He nodded slowly, then stared up over her head at his wife’s pile of maps and documents lying on top of her desk. She had only come to bed, really, a few hours ago. He threaded his fingers through her long white hair, matted with sweat, gently scratching at her scalp. Soon, he felt her heartbeat slow down, her embrace not quite so tight. He continued, hoping she’d pass out soon.  
  
They laid like that for about twenty minutes.  
  
“You’re not going back to sleep, are you?” Chrom said.  
  
Robin groaned, muffled by his undershirt, then shifted so she could speak. “Probably not,” she mumbled.  
  
Explaining why was pointless, as Chrom was just as aware of their position as she was. A death god, and whatever forces it was mustering, was waiting for them at the volcanic island Origin Peak. All signs pointed to enemy engagement within the day. Everyone on this ship could be dead by this time tomorrow: the Shepherds, who had left kin and country to follow her and Chrom for years on a series of increasingly dangerous and costly missions; the orphans who traveled through time and dimensions to help a world that wasn’t truly theirs; every member of the largely Chon'sin crew currently manning and defending the ship, watching to see if Grima would simply descend from the heavens, part the clouds, and kill them all at sea while the Exalt and Queen slept.  
  
The thought plagued her. Why _wasn’t_ Grima attacking now? Sure, she had an active response prepared, eight Chon’sin pegasus scouts were circling the ship at a league’s distance, but what the hell was Grima waiting for? It had unlimited opportunities, while leaving her with limited options.  
  
Her mind betrayed her and went down well worn paths. She had deliberated this to death weeks ago, after Naga had empowered Chrom atop Mount Prism and commissioned him to seal an awakened Grima—on the other side of the planet. All this after already sailing hard for weeks around the entirety of Ylisse’s southern coast to reach the holy mountain as soon as possible.  
  
There had been only one available response. Marching westward across Ylisse was a non-starter. Even though it would have solved their food and supply problems, and stopping at the capital to briefly visit little Lucina was painfully tempting, they couldn’t guarantee finding another ship at the western edge of a largely decimated Plegia. The only choice was to go east with the warship they had already commandeered to reach Mount Prism, have Say’ri’s people continue to pilot it at near constant full sail, go under and around Valm, hope the battered vessel didn’t break apart mid-journey, and risk a flying approach with fresh mounts the moment it became possible.  
  
Beyond all that gods-ordained insanity was the question of why a nearly omnipotent Grima was setting up a defensive position against them at all, no matter that position’s strength. Grima could conjure the undead anywhere. If it was going to insist on forgetting it was a god and set up a traditional military defense, why not fly to Ylisstol, leaving its only true threat far behind, destroy the city and remaining defenders, man the castle's many walls and towers with the dead, and repel its exhausted enemy?  
  
Even more, why not just fly around forever, never tiring, just out of reach of the Awakener and the Emblem, killing as it went, destroying everything and everyone she’d come to care about, not from direct action, but from attrition. If Grima’s patterns shifted and the beast acted with any intelligence at all, the only option remaining for them might be to take the same path Lucina had, giving up on their world, mourning their baby girl, killed in an inevitable assault against the castle, facing utter failure just on the edge of victory. Or, even worse, what if she was forced to go back, but her mind was wiped, _again_ , like poor Morgan? The thought of losing everyone was-  
  
Chrom shook her gently. “Hey. Hey, Robin.”  
  
She looked up at Chrom, blinking, teary eyed. Oh. She was crying. Robin wiped at her face as Chrom watched, brow furrowed. “Sorry. Just stressed,” she said.  
  
He waited. His wife was like this. Wait a few seconds, and then her real feelings would reveal themselves.  
  
“I’m thinking about our chances,” she said. He waited a moment more. “We’re banking on our enemy acting against their best interest. Even with Naga’s assurance, I…” She took a deep breath. “I don’t know how this is going to end.”  
  
Another moment. She looked to the side. “I don’t know if I’m going to see our daughter again.”  
  
He put his forehead to hers, laying down in the moment with her for a while.  
  
“We’re going to do what we can. And we can do a lot. We’re going to seal Grima. And then we’ll go home and see little Lucina along with the Shepherds, the Children, everyone. We’re not going to give up another day of watching her grow up to anyone or anything. I promise.”  
  
Her crystal clear hypothetical scenario, fueled by the imagination that had brought them improbable victory after improbable victory, warred with the simple reassurance of her husband. She closed her eyes, remembering the moment the god who _was_ on their side assured them personally that Grima was making a, strategically flawed, final stand on the big rock they were sailing toward. Doubting Naga at this point wasn’t helpful.  
  
For further comfort, she briefly sank into her innate supernatural sense of where all her people were on the ship, the ability that gave her pinpoint accuracy in field command. Everyone was fine. Most weren’t sleeping that well, but, with one exception, all were resting in preparation for the monumental task that was to come. Vaike was sleeping most soundly of all, because of course he was.  
  
She was almost certain this ability came from her ‘being’ Grima, but, in this moment, there was a satisfying irony there.  
  
She nodded, then kissed Chrom. “Right,” she whispered, closing her eyes and attempting to rest in his arms, if not sleep. Satisfied that Robin was alright, Chrom drifted off and soon was softly snoring, rocked to sleep by the waves.  
  
Robin drifted between sleep and wakefulness for an hour. She kept her sense of everyone’s whereabouts on, perhaps to seek continued comfort, but one blip knocked at her mind’s door every few minutes, reminding her of the one who was still awake. Maternal worry continued knocking until she let out a silent huff and quietly slipped out of bed and into her boots, dressed in her flying gear’s under-layer, enough clothing that it wouldn’t be scandalous if Libra caught her above deck.  
  
She opened her and Chrom’s door and, of course, just outside the royal cabin, the hulking form of Frederick was sitting on a too small chair, back ramrod straight, resisting the sway of the ship despite being completely passed out. Ever-present guardians had to nap sometimes. He was even dressed in leather armor, instead of the full plate he’d worn seemingly every waking hour since she met him, Chrom, and Lissa in that field three years ago. He’d worn it as his dress uniform at the royal wedding, despite Chrom’s pleas. It seemed that seafaring life had worn down his resolve. She’d have to find some way to subtly encourage him to continue that lack of resolve, maybe someday graduate to a shirt and pants.  
  
Robin, chuckling to herself as she remembered Gregor’s ribald ‘protection’ joke at her wedding at poor Fred’s expense, slowly moved past more cabins so as to not wake anyone at this early hour. First, the other royal cabin, shared between Lucina and Lissa, then a few of the married couples’, followed at last by the crowded general quarters, one of its double doors wide open to manage circulation in a room with that much body heat.  
  
She could hear someone talking in their sleep. Robin poked her head through the open door and listened for a moment.  
  
“Mmrgh… Teach… Teach is gonna… get the dragon… say you’re sorry… and apologize to everyone…”  
  
One of the Children, Nah, she thought, hard to miss that silhouette with those ears, slapped his head from a neighboring bunk with a notebook, a loud ‘thwack!’ echoing through the room.  
  
Robin pressed her lips together hard to keep from laughing and scurried up toward the deck as her resolve weakened, more mumbled complaints half audible down below. Vaike was no longer sleeping soundly. She really did love her people. Bickering like siblings sharing a bedroom, the night before an assault against a being as strong as the goddess most of them worshiped.

With that sobering thought cooling her head as she made it topside, Robin looked out at the busy deck, Chon’sin sailors working on the rigging, manning the wheel and rudder, Say’ri up in the captain’s position barking orders. Now away from the more isolated cabins, she could hear and smell the evidence of pegasi and wyverns in the hold-turned-stable beneath them, neighing, thrums and rumblings, the gentle but firm speech of handlers, the rotten floral stench of manure, all mixing with the waves and salt. She’d head down there to check on her hoofed ‘child’ after she finished comforting her real one.  
  
Off in a corner, hidden behind some tied down crates, Lucina was sitting on the deck—with Tiki. Seemed Naga’s daughter couldn’t sleep either. Finding her here, despite not knowing her exact position, wasn’t too much of a surprise. Even though Tiki was under her line of command, Robin couldn’t sense her like the rest of her people. She had suspicions as to why, perhaps because of her ‘Grima-ness’, or Tiki’s ‘Naga-ness’, or, what seemed most likely, those two concepts not mixing well, but that didn’t matter at the moment. Robin held back out of their view, to allow their conversation to continue.  
  
Her daughter and Tiki had grown an odd, but sweet, sort of friendship, seeming to hover between sisterly, motherly, and like a kind priestess attending to a distressed parishioner. Apparently something had _happened_ to the Tiki of Lucina’s old world. When the ancient Manakete first joined the party, Lucina avoided her as much as possible. Then, during one dinner service in which Lucina awkwardly left the mess hall after Tiki sat down at the same table, Tiki sought her out to resolve whatever it was she had ‘done’, afraid she had unknowingly caused offense. That night, Robin sensed that Lucina had stayed outside the tent for a few hours before returning to her quarters.  
  
Now, the two were close, but not in the same way the other Children were with her, where they often tried to cheer her up, or rope her into their antics, which, honestly, was quite normal for their age group, or try to ‘remember the good times,’ which Lucina received well enough, but with a subtle tension that was hard to pick up on unless you were looking for it. The two of them, however, seemed to simply talk, Tiki matching her daughter’s subdued mood, hands folded, mostly listening. Since this started, Robin had noticed Lucina coming out and sitting with her and Chrom and the rest of the inner circle increasingly often, even if her oldest daughter didn’t speak too much. Whatever Tiki was doing helped. Better than what little Robin had tried initiating so far, bogged down with running the war and managing their forces.  
  
From behind the crate, she listened to them talk in not quite discernible soft voices, and then, a minute or so later, Tiki audibly said in that ethereal voice of hers, “I think your mother is waiting behind this crate of potatoes.”

Lucina’s eyes popped up just above the wooden horizon, her thick blue eyebrows raised. “Oh. Yes, um. Hello, Mother.”  
  
Tiki smiled, bowing at the neck as Robin joined the two of them. "Commander."  
  
Robin nodded in turn and took a seat on a crate-turned-stool. "Tiki. How are you this morning?"  
  
"Very well, I think. My seasickness is abetting," she replied.  
  
Lucina and Robin nodded absently together, almost synchronized. Lucina looked at Robin, then the horizon. "So, Mother. Are you," she absently tugged at her hair, "are you well?"  
  
Robin shrugged, "Well enough, I suppose."  
  
Lucina nodded. "Good."  
  
Mother and daughter looked out over the sea, obscured by people and rigging.  
  
Robin started feeling mildly guilty. She had interrupted her daughter's private time. Tiki was already handling things, probably. In some ways, she knew Lucina better than Robin did. Doubling down on the girl might be overwhelming, or unhelpful. Maybe this was more about making herself feel better than it was about-  
  
Tiki, who had been looking back and forth between the two fretting women for the past few moments, gave a subtle smile, then stood, and bowed at the hip toward her commander. “I must prepare for the coming battle. Have a good morning, both of you.” She then walked with precise even movements down the deck, leaving mother and daughter alone, blinking after her.  
  
“Huh. Well, ah. Guess she,” Robin swallowed thickly, “guess she has somewhere to be.”  
  
“Mmhm,” Lucina replied.  
  
After a few more moments of silence, Robin got off of the crate and sat down, cross-legged, next to Lucina on the deck. Not in a way that they were sitting beside the other, nor were they facing each other, but at an awkward angle, not quite looking each other in the eyes. The silence lasted a few moments, until Robin broke it.  
  
“I,” she coughed into her hand, “I couldn’t sleep very well. You?”  
  
Lucina shook her head. “I suppose not.”  
  
Robin nodded. She scratched her nose. Then she shuffled in place, trying to get more comfortable. Unable to do so, she continued. “I, ah. I wanted to see how you were doing.” Time to rip off the bandage. “I can’t imagine how this fight must feel for you.”  
  
Lucina stiffened, silent. Robin had said the ‘wrong’ thing, but it was better than not saying it at all.  
  
They were going to kill Lucina’s birth mother in just a few hours. Or, rather, the body which housed Grima’s spirit, Robin’s doppelganger from another world, Lucina’s world. Robin struggled to swallow the iron ball in her throat. There were so many things she could say, but some of them were too truthful and crushing, others were cloying and too sweet and didn’t acknowledge the darkness of what was about to take place, even under the best scenario.  
  
In a sense, this was ‘her’ fault. There wasn’t any material difference between herself and the Hierophant wearing her face, wearing that damned six eyed cloak, promising death to each one of them and the world, and was more than capable of delivering that threat. ‘She’ had failed, which meant Robin could too. Even now the risk still remained.  
  
Her mind forged a parallel between the vision she had been forced to witness every few nights since Grima’s awakening and Lucina’s lived experience. Violent betrayal from a parent. Robin was now hounded by those images, but there was no love lost between herself and Validar. It pushed her toward battle with the remaining Grimleal all the harder. But, for Lucina, it must have been far worse. Robin loved her little daughter, would die for her, and, from Lucina’s reaction when she first revealed her identity to her and Chrom, that crushing hug, the flowing tears, there wasn’t any reason to think the ‘her’ of that world had felt any differently regarding the young woman sitting next to her.  
  
And now all of this had happened. Lucina had already dedicated too many of her best years to killing her birth mother. It was unthinkable, the _evil_ , reaching out for the young and defenseless. Lucina didn’t deserve this. Not this one, not the one back home. Robin would rather kill herself than allow a reasonable possibility of being taken by that _thing_ .  
  
Robin grit her teeth. To hell with what the goddess said. Grima _had_ to die. She _had_ to think of a way to end the creature, forever. If not now, then she would dedicate her life to killing it in its sleep.  
  
Lucina’s wavering voice cut through her rage. “Mom?”  
  
The commander turned sharply. Lucina had tears pricking her eyes and, Robin realized, for the second time today, she was tearing up as well.  
  
Deep breath. And out.  
  
Then, she reached over and drew Lucina into a hug, which the young woman immediately returned. “I’m sorry, Luci. It’s just,” another deep breath, “It’s been a hard night.” Lucina nodded slowly, letting out a cut off sob. Robin rubbed her back up and down as her eldest daughter cried quietly in her arms.  
  
Once Lucina’s sobs dimmed, Robin spoke softly, close to Lucina’s ear. “Luci, no matter what happens today, you _are_ my daughter. I might not have given birth to you, but, after all this, that,” she swallowed the iron ball, starting to sob herself, heavy tears falling down her cheeks, “it doesn’t matter.”  
  
Lucina squeezed her mother tighter; the only reason she wasn’t crying along with her was to listen to what Robin had to say. She continued, “I’ve not given you the time you’ve needed, but I’ve gotten to know you well enough that I’m afraid you’re going to run after this is over to somewhere I can’t find you. Not let yourself have a future.”  
  
Robin released herself from the tight embrace and put her hands on either side of Lucina’s face, staring her in the eyes. Both of theirs were puffy and red.  
  
Robin’s words spilled from her mouth. “You are a member of my family. I need you here, with us. It doesn’t matter that there’s ‘already’ a Lucina. She isn’t taking your place, and you aren’t taking hers. To be honest, and I haven’t even told Chrom this, but I’m pretty sure, one, I want to officially adopt you,” Lucina let out a heavy sob at that, nearly curling into herself, chest heaving, but Robin, biting her lip so she wouldn’t lose all composure, continued holding her oldest daughter’s face. “Two, I want to change my daughter’s name. You and her are _different_ people. Because of everything you’ve done, you’ve given my daughter a chance at having a peaceful good life, and—”  
  
Again, Lucina wrapped Robin in a crushing hug, sobbing. Robin, face puffy and tear streaked, gently shushed her and rubbed her back, rocking along with the boat.  
  
A while later, Robin whispered, “I was thinking about ‘Lyn.’”  
  
Lucina sniffled. “F-from the novel?”  
  
Robin turned her head to look at Lucina from the corner of her eye. She had bought _The Sword of Raging Fire_ from their Anna months and months ago for something to read besides endless indecipherable paperwork during her pregnancy.  
  
“Oh, is it—” Mid-sentence, Robin realized who had introduced the story to her. She changed the question. “—something you’ve read in the past?”  
  
Lucina nodded, happening to wipe her eyes on Robin’s pinstripe undershirt. “I like the name.”  
  
Robin smiled, running her fingers through her daughter’s deep ocean blue hair. “Your father and the damn bureaucrats will just have to accept it then.” Lucina let out a small, choked, laugh.  
  
Getting the Council’s nobility to accept ‘Lucina’ as her daughter’s name was hard enough. It wasn’t a name of an Exalt or Exalt’s spouse or children. It was the name of Chrom’s nursemaid. Eventually, her husband, the Exalt, their ruler, had to raise his voice and demand it, which, infuriatingly, cost him political capital.  
  
Robin was getting angry again.  
  
Big breath in, and out.  
  
One long exhale later, she gave Lucina one more squeeze and let go of her, now shifting over so they were side by side, leaning back against the rough wood.  
  
As Robin moved on and made small talk with her new heir, her mind drifted toward a normal state, her sense of where everyone was coming back. So, speaking of children, she perked up, craning her neck backwards.  
  
“I think your brother is hiding behind this crate of potatoes,” she said. A squeaky yelp came from behind said crate, then, after a moment, a mop of dark blue hair slowly revealed itself until Morgan’s amber eyes were visible.  
  
“Ah, um, hello, Mother. Sister. I didn’t mean to listen, but I saw you leaving your room, Mother, and, uh, well, um—”  
  
He must have seen her when she had peeked in on Nowi and Vaike’s shenanigans. “Just get over here,” said Robin with a warm smile.  
  
Soon enough, both her extradimensional children were squished together in her arms, Lucina letting out a weak cry of protest before it just turned into a big group hug.  
  
Robin still had no idea where Morgan had come from. He wasn’t from Lucina’s time. There were subtle and not so subtle clues, foremost being him wearing that damned Grimleal coat when he first appeared months ago—Lucina mentioning to her she didn’t remember her birth mother ever wearing it. It made her wary of the mystery ‘Robin’ who seemingly left the cursed thing as a treasured possession, but, now, well...  
  
Morgan sighed, seemingly content, and hugged her tighter.  
  
He was a cute kid. Even more in his night-blue mage’s coat, matching the one hung up in her royal cabin. Morgan had no idea what the symbology of his old coat meant. Her son just wanted to wear something that reminded him of his mother, and seemed just as pleased with his new one.  
  
“So, how much of that did you hear, Morg?”  
  
He looked up, blinking. “Hm? Oh, uh, just the part where you said you were going to adopt Lucina.”  
  
Robin ruffled his messy hair, damp with sea salt. “So, everything.”  
  
He nodded matter-of-factly in reply.  
  
Robin took a moment to look at his sleepy smiling expression, considering. There wasn’t much time left. Preparations for the attack would start in just over two hours from now, by her reckoning, and there were critical things she needed to do before then. Even though she would have liked to spend an hour or so talking with him about this, like she just had with Lucina, a small word would do until the war was over. Then, they’d have all the time in the world.  
  
“Well, just so you know, I was planning on having a similar conversation with you later about adopting you along with her, but time just—” He suddenly squeezed even tighter, taking her breath out of her lungs. Robin glanced over at Lucina, who was starting to tear up again.  
  
Robin hugged him back and scratched slowly at his scalp with her free hand.  
  
It would do.  
  
“Gods,” she muttered, chuckling, “both of you are so much like your father. Alright, let's get up before we all start crying again.” Stumbling a little, some of their legs fell asleep from sitting so long, they were soon back on their feet. Lucina put an arm over Morgan’s shoulder and led him aft, back toward the cabins.

She watched them speak softly to each other as their heads dipped below deck. Now it was time to head down to the stables and check in on Marth. Start today right. Get his saddle. Feed him some snacks. Maybe some—  
  
Frederick was thundering up the stairs, bowing quickly at the two young royals before making a beeline to Robin. He bowed formally, fist over his heart, and reported. “Your Majesty, your presence is required in the royal cabin.”  
  
She knew that terse nervous tone well enough that she started striding aft immediately with him. What could have possibly come up in her own bedroom between now and when she left over an hour ago?  
  
“What’s happening?”  
  
Frederick pressed his lips together and cocked his head slightly. Translated, she’d learned to know that meant, ‘I don’t know, and it bothers me more than I can say.’ Verbally, Frederick said, “Chrom, fully dressed, opened your door a crack and asked me to fetch you regarding something urgent. I did not ask more.”  
  
They jogged down the stairs, not caring much for the noise it made. Some complained from the bunk room, but those complaints were unheard. “And he stayed inside?”  
  
“Yes, your Majesty.”

Bizarre.  
  
In moments, Robin was at her door. She nodded in thanks at a wide eyed Frederick, who bowed, then took his post, standing, one hand on the hilt of an axe, ready to let fly if necessary.  
  
She closed the door behind her and stopped dead in her tracks. Chrom, in his old blue uniform, a few buttons undone from, she guessed, rapidly putting it on, looked at her and let out an enormous breath. His face was pale. Sitting in her usual spot at her desk, drinking a cup of tea, was Naga, complete with flowing floating robes, skin pale as milk, bamboo green hair, and a ghostly ethereal glow.  
  
The god looked at Robin. “Take a seat,” she said, lips barely moving, but her airy voice filled the room.

Despite her instinctual fear and awe, Robin found the pettiness within her to be mildly annoyed that Naga had taken the only chair in the room. She sat stiffly on her bed, back ramrod straight.

The god drank the remainder of the tea, porcelain sharply clinking together as she set the cup down. She looked at both of them for a long moment. Or perhaps all moments seemed long while speaking with your creator.  
  
“I am not your creator, Fellblood.”  
  
Robin blinked slowly, narrowing her eyes. The fact that Naga had just read her mind bothered her less than that seeming like an odd thing to say during a meeting, presumably, about sealing the source of the Fellblood away. Robin sharing Grima’s identity and blood wasn’t a new or useful detail. Chrom looked between the two of them, confused, concerned.  
  
Naga then spoke without moving her lips, casually dwarfing Robin’s supernatural communication abilities. “Your pegasus scouts are returning soon. They will report the island is erupting and that Grima is missing. Grima is, however, present. It is in the darkness, as I am in the light. It can choose when to reveal itself. It is hidden.”  
  
A heavy silence fell, husband and wife glancing at each other. Robin broke the quiet. “How should we attack a hidden spiritual being?”  
  
Naga hummed, then sipped out of Robin’s cup.  
  
Wait, wasn’t that cup empty? Again, it clinked as she put it down, half full.  
  
“It is unable to resist its compulsions. It seeks you out. Both of you. Its rebellious vessel and the destined adversary who carries my blood and my fang. All things are equal. If it attacks, it can be attacked. The Hierophant will be on the dragon’s body. When the time is right, I will take you up to it. I will remain with you. Protect you from attempts to kill you instantly. It has already tried tonight.”  
  
Both royals cursed. Naga didn’t comment.  
  
But she did **_look_ ** at Robin, and held that gaze. Robin stared in turn, squinting.  
  
What was happening here?  
  
Answering a question that was not asked, Naga said, “Remember. All that is possible for Chrom to do is seal it.”  
  
Silence hung over them like tar.  
  
“Is there a way for Grima to die? Forever?” Chrom asked, voice tense, tight.  
  
Still looking at Robin, the god replied, “Suicide.”  
  
Chrom, frustrated, cupped his chin, muttering. “It almost sounds like a joke. As if Grima could feel things like despair or regret.”  
  
Naga was silent, still staring at Robin.  
  
The iron ball she disposed of on the deck was replaced with a steel one, sitting in Robin’s throat.  
  
Chrom stared at the floorboards, then shrugged. “Then, as horrible it is to think we might be forcing someone else to handle this again—this hell—if it really is all we can do, then—”  
  
The words spilled out of Robin’s mouth like vomit. “I could kill it.”  
  
Chrom’s head swiveled to regard his wife, his mouth hung open slightly. “Excuse me?”  
  
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. Robin didn’t reply immediately. When she did, her voice was soft. “I am Grima. If I kill it, then it counts.”  
  
Chrom’s expression turned from concern and confusion to a wide smile. “That’s,” his blue eyes were wild, “dear, that’s incredible! We have a loophole!”  
  
Naga held up a hand, glancing away from Robin toward the Exalt. “There is no loophole.”  
  
Chrom frowned, looked at his god and let out a huff. “Goddess, this certainly sounds like the solution we’ve been looking for. Why isn’t it a loophole?”  
  
Robin’s face had grown pale, almost as pale as Naga’s.  
  
Naga nodded at Robin, then spoke again to her chosen son. “In killing Grima, she kills herself.”  
  
The tar turned to solid rock. The room was silent. Even from the sounds of the waves and wind.  
  
Chrom stuttered for a moment, then spoke. “T-then, we’ll just have to seal it.”  
  
The silence continued.  
  
Chrom slowly turned to his wife. Robin looked back at him. Her eyes were starting to redden.  
  
“No,” he said.  
  
Robin’s mouth opened, but no words came out.  
  
“Absolutely not,” he said, voice rising.  
  
“We can’t allow this thing to live,” she said, voice unsteady.

“And we _won’t_ ,” he said, standing, voice even louder, more commanding. “You and Miriel and Laurent and every mage worth anything will work together on how to bypass the seal and kill it later.”  
  
“That is impossible,” said Naga.  
  
Chrom shot a blasphemous look toward Naga. “Goddess, my wife has done the impossible more than once.”  
  
She held up a hand and shook her head. “I do not disagree. However, _I_ could not harm Grima while it was sealed despite attempting to do so during the past millennia. None of you are as powerful or as knowledgeable as I in these matters, with the partial exception of yourself, Exalt, and only in power, and only for a short time.” Naga spoke evenly, a gentle, brutal, monotone. Chrom seethed, breathing through his teeth.  
  
Naga turned to Robin, who was staring down at her lap, finding it difficult to breathe. “You, however, are not unlike me. Yet, our differences provide options.” The god opened the lost woman’s mind. After a moment, Naga spoke softly. “Fellblood, you think I mean to convince you to end your life. You are mistaken. I wish to present reality. Given you and the Awakener survive the upcoming conflict, both sealing and striking Grima down would succeed. Similarly, between finding a way to destroy a sealed Grima and you surviving a fatal encounter today, the chances of each occurring in their given scenario are the same, with a minuscule advantage to the later, due to your strong spiritual connection to your allies, the effects of which you have been depending on in battle for these past years.”  
  
Naga stood, her head reaching the ceiling, but then kneeled down to look at Robin in the face. “You are Fellblood. You are Grima. You are not the beast.”  
  
And she was gone.  
  
They remained in their positions for the next few minutes.  
  
“No,” said Chrom. “I— You can’t.”  
  
Robin continued staring.  
  
“Please.” His voice strained.  
  
Robin folded over herself and heaved, pain racking her gut. Nothing came out. Chrom climbed on the bed and clung to her from behind. She began to sob, bitterly. Chrom as well, clenching her undershirt in his fists.  
  
Her mind betrayed her and showed her images of Emmeryn, dashed against the rocks. Lissa sleeping in Robin’s tent, calling and reaching out for her sister in her sleep. Chrom preparing to end his life on Plegian blades, with her barely able to pull him away, then him immediately turning to kill Mustafa and his innocent men with no remorse.  
  
Holding her daughter and son, just minutes ago.  
  
These past hours felt like she had sprinted up a mountain, starting from a dark valley, and now she had been pushed off, tumbling into the abyss, alone.  
  
She dry heaved again, then, shaking, turned and clung back to her husband.  
  
Robin had made her decision the moment she said, ‘I could kill it.’

As the minutes passed and the two mourned, mental images shifted from the sickening and paralyzing to the dead man’s calm of absolutely nothing. They laid down and cried and held each other.  
  
The morbid calm had taken tight hold of them, but, slowly, images began to enter into their minds that didn’t feel entirely their own. A Plegian man sitting on his balcony painting a portrait of Emmeryn, smiling beatifically. The formerly damned holy city slowly expanding, farmland creeping out into the weakening desert. Families walking in the street, buying food, talking casually with each other. The skeleton of Grima, gone.  
  
Faster than the fastest bird of myth, their vision switched to Ylisse. Images of Ylisstol expanding, buildings growing higher. Then, slowly, the thick outer wall disappearing, being dismantled and replaced by homes and shops and guilds. Caravans of all styles and sizes going in and out of the now gateless city. Plegians, Feroxians, Chon’sin, Valmese, and Ylissians all living and working together.  
  
Then up. And up and up and up into the sky and now she was looking down as if their world was a living map. The desert of Plegia largely disappearing, replaced with vibrant shades of green. A _lot_ more green, throughout the entire world.  
  
Robin, somehow, found herself smiling.  
  
She looked up at Chrom. He was smiling too, but still crying, as was she.  
  
“I love you. So much,” she said, voice hoarse with tears.  
  
He kissed her, desperately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! Thanks for reading. Kudo and comment if you'd like. My self esteem may or may not depend on it. Also, brain like watch number go up.
> 
> Quick note on content warnings for this story.
> 
> That first scene is about as dark as it's going to get. That said, if you know the plot and major subplots of Three Houses, you can likely guess when these sorts of moments could come up again. If anything comes up beyond that, I'll put it in the notes at the top.
> 
> Again, I hope you enjoyed reading.
> 
> 4/12/2020 - Apologies for the delays. Family and looking-for-work stuff has hit me, as it has for many of us I'm sure. Writing fanfiction has taken a bit of a back seat. BUT! While handling those personal issues, I've been thinking and plotting out additional details for the upcoming arc, so I hope you will enjoy the higher level of quality that the time spent thinking will give. Again, hopefully. Thanks once more for reading.


	2. To Slay a God

After a few quiet moments of intimacy and meditative preparation for the trial to come, the Exalt and Queen emerged from the royal cabin in full battle dress.

Chrom was encased in his burnished dark gray plate armor, brand of the Exalt inlaid in silver on his right pauldron. The completed Fire Emblem was strapped to his shield arm, white, purple, blue, red, and green light shining from the stones embedded within, while the sheathed Falchion was on his hip, positioned at an angle by thick leather straps so the enormous sword, longer than his leg, wouldn’t dig into the floorboards, or his wyvern.

Robin, white hair up in a tight warrior’s braid, was enclosed from the neck down by her relatively lightweight enchanted silver plate armor, gleaming with the reflected multicolor light of the Emblem close by. Her night-blue mage’s coat was over her armor, tied to it in key places so the garment wouldn’t go flying while she and Marth dove through the air. A brand new Levin sword was clipped to her hip, unsheathed, ready to let fly with magic in an instant, while her master tome was strapped tight on the other hip, the outer leather binding uncovered for easy access.

They had washed their faces, eyes still puffy, but now just appearing solemn.

Their people, save one, would not know what was to occur.

Upon reaching the deck, both of them stopped and took in the moment. Chon’sin crew members were rushing everywhere, preparing to open up the deck. At the prow, the Shepherds were gathered together, staring across the sea at the ominous vista.

Origin Peak was clearly visible on the horizon, glowing red and orange in the early morning dark, thick ash billowing into the sky. As they approached the group, Robin noticed that, unlike the rest, Tharja wasn’t looking at the island. She was looking just above it.

“Their Majesties on deck,” said Frederick sharply, causing some of the Shepherds, and most of the Children, to jump as they turned about face. Robin examined her and Chrom’s faithful knight. His expression was like granite, heavy and immovable. He had helped inspect and gather everyone, his usual duty, and then also took on her duties, assigning unit roles for battle and doling out appropriate equipment requisitions according to her written instructions. It felt selfish to ask him, but he did so without a word of complaint or comment.

She too caught the concerned gazes of her daughter, son, and sister-in-law, who all seemed to suspect something from their commander’s absence. Lissa’s expression flickered between doe-eyed concern, bordering on tears, and an intense questioning glare at both of them.

Robin held up a hand, calling for both calm and attention. “Hello, everyone,” she said in a partially recovered voice, still scratchy and hoarse. “I know the mountain, and what’s on it, is ahead of us, but we need to stay focused. A quick triple check before we make final preparations and deploy. This is your last chance to request a change in assignment. Is everyone satisfied with the final roster?”

Ironic, in that she was likely the only one dissatisfied with her own roster, the one everyone had been working under since they’d sailed away from Prism. She’d put those she trusted most under her personal command to protect and deliver Chrom’s blade to Grima’s heart, a hard fought capability now relegated to a backup. Luci, Morg, and Liz would be with them today, and would watch Robin die if they succeeded. If Robin had her way, she’d quickly substitute in soldiers like Miriel, or Sully, or any number of Shepherds who would more easily swallow the weight of watching a leader and friend fall.

But changing who was flying with who so soon would disrupt weeks of work and, in further irony, endanger their lives. She’d just have to add their presence to the pile of guilt she’d work out wherever she ended up after this was done.

Her people stole glances among each other and at the royal couple, eventually starting to nod or quietly give their assent to their assignments. They could tell something was off. It was probably obvious. Her voice, her face. Damn it.

Still, Robin continued. “I assume that Frederick already went over this, but just to make absolutely certain, is everyone wearing insulated clothing?” A chorus of nods and, “Yes, Robin.” She nodded. “Good. Does everyone have their air bags ready to go?” A precaution for high altitude air-to-air combat. Another round of nods, with a few holding up their pressurized magicked wine-skins.

Usually when she asked something like this, Vaike would groan and sprint to his cot and sprint back, as prepared as he could be, but it seemed Fred really had whipped everyone into shape this morning, despite everything that was thrust upon him too. Her heart swelled with gratitude and pride for him. Damn was he a good lieutenant.

A wave of pleasant memories passed over her. Fred insisted on learning how to ride a wyvern alongside his liege after Robin had finally convinced her lover to learn how to fly with her. The knight had sworn that there wouldn’t be a square inch of the world where he wasn’t capable of protecting Chrom. And so it would be today.

They had been drilling air formations since they left Mount Prism, including those who couldn’t fly at all, getting them used to being strapped into the saddle of a flying beast, keeping their bearings while flipping and turning high in the sky.

“Excellent,” she replied, relieved that everyone seemed focused. “We’re going to do the arrowhead formation we’ve been drilling. You all have been working hard on it, and I appreciate your effort. As for the enemy,” Robin started pacing back and forth across the deck, “expect entrenched snipers on the mountain. The dead aren’t too good at adapting to new strategies, so don’t anticipate them copying our flying archers by the end of today. Staying out of range from the mountain should be enough to avoid arrows.” A few light chuckles. Not as many as she expected.

It _was_ the final battle, she supposed. Robin continued. “Expect melee and mage flyers to attempt to break our formations and go for our healers and Manaketes. If anyone breaks through, our side-saddled mages and archers know what to do. Same goes for any flying Risen appearing in the middle of our airspace.” Another brief flash of memories assaulted her, a cloud of purple haze on top of Grima’s skull, revealing undead soldiers stepping out of inky blackness, trapping Emmeryn, hundreds of feet in the air. The rotting bodies stepping closer and closer—

No. Focus. She was getting caught up in herself. Robin closed her eyes, took a breath, and continued.

“Even though we are likely to face our more conventional foes first, remember that Grima itself is the ultimate target. It could appear at any time, anywhere. Once it shows, you must protect Chrom and I as we make our way to the Hierophant,” she said, stopping her pacing and turning on her heel to face her soldiers. “Any questions?” she asked.

Gregor raised his hand, but spoke immediately anyway, heavy west Plegian accent cutting through. “Robin, we heard much of the crying and distress noises from your and Chrom’s cabin just now. Frederick asked us to not barge in, but we have many worries for you both.”

Nods all around. Lissa, blonde mop and tearful glowering eyes barely visible among her taller comrades, looked at Robin and her royal brother, silently pleading to know what was happening to them. Lucina and Morgan beside her hardly looked any better.

She felt her pulse through her throat. Of course everyone heard her sobbing. She should have prepared something, and now she’d have to improvise.

Robin opened her mouth, made a short indecipherable sound, then closed her teeth together with a sharp click. Nothing came to mind. Nothing she could say convincingly to her people.

The truth pounded from the door of her heart, demanding to be let out. But then she imagined what would happen if she gave in to her heart and told her friends and family, right now, that she was fully expecting to never see them again. Morgan and Lissa wouldn’t be able to fight, no question. Lucina would soldier on, but her sword hand would be slower, perception not as sharp. Everyone’s morale would sink like a lodestone to the bottom of the ocean. Many more would die.

It was better to have more mourners than to relieve her pain. So, to cut the difference, she would tell a truthful lie.

“As many of you can relate to, I’m sure,” she said, “I just had a bout of anxiety and self doubt.” That got some mumbled agreement. “I’m lucky I had Chrom with me.” Another look over to him, and she found that Chrom was already looking back, still solemn, but offering his hand.

Deep breath, and out.

She clasped his hand, then turned to her people and continued. “I also have you. And you all have each other. We all have each other.”

She looked to where dawn was starting to break off the side, painting the dark sky in growing pastel watercolors, made more intense by the smoke from the eruption diffusing the light.

This moment would be her only chance to relieve her tension. At least enough so she could continue. She’d take it.

“It’s funny. In a sense, my entire life has been with you all. I only have three years worth of memories, all of them with you. Lots of good ones. Some bad ones, but those bound us together. I went from being a homeless vagabond to being your Queen. And I haven’t done anything to deserve it, beyond what I’ve learned from being with you.” She swallowed, collecting herself. “I am the luckiest woman in the world.” Robin wiped her eyes with her wrists. “Excuse me.” She wiped some more. Robin heard some sniffles from the group. Couldn’t leave them on this. Needed to lighten things up. “I know that saying things like that before a big moment is a cliche, like it’s some epic historical play. But, I’m an amnesiac so it sounds original to me.”

Gregor barked out a laugh. “It’s true, she can’t remember anything!” Then Sully laughed, after slapping him hard in the back of the head. “Don’t be an ass!” And then Nowi laughed, because she just laughs when other people laugh. By the end of it, everyone had a bit of a chuckle.

Robin sighed in relief. Good, the tension was gone, at least from most of them. Fred hadn’t laughed. Neither did Chrom, who just squeezed her hand tighter.

For Robin, it eased her heart. she had managed to say goodbye to everyone, without tipping them off. She hoped they would forgive her.

Time to end the meeting. She technically hadn’t gone over every detail as she normally would, but she had drilled the new formation with them for a month. Her people were the best warriors in the world. They knew what to do. “So, you all ready to kill a god?” she yelled, voice booming, amplified by wind magic, off-hand on her tome. The moment felt worth it to burn one of her little spells.

“Let’s kick Grima’s ass!” There was Sully again, almost as loud as Robin by herself. Everyone let out a good cheer at that. The corners of Chrom’s mouth turned upward ever so slightly. There was her man.

“Everyone, to the hold!” she commanded. “Be ready to deploy on my signal in five minutes!”

The deck was suddenly filled with a rush of activity, people clamoring down to the floating stable for final preparations, a few sprinting to the cabins for one thing or another. Oh, and there was Kellam, casually heading down, no fuss. Robin suspected he’d, somehow, be the first person to be ready.

Robin felt the air rush out of her lungs as Lucina, in her matte blue plate armor, nearly tackled her off her feet in a hug. Just as Robin recovered, her son had wrapped around the other side, burying his head in her coat.

It felt like ripping her heart open to give simple reassurance, but it had to be done. “Sorry to worry you both.”

“N-no, I get it. It’s the end,” said Lucina, partially muffled.

Robin breathed deep, keeping her composure. Shit, this was going to be hard. At hearing another half tackle, she looked over at Lissa, a head shorter than her husband, hugging him tightly as well, while not being quite as placid as Lucina.

“Every possible thing ran through my head, Chrom. Gods, I get it, but I wish you and Robin could choose better timing for your heart to hearts. We were all having heart attacks up here on the deck while,” she gestured vaguely at Frederick, heading down himself, “Freddie is herding us away from your room like we’re misplaced cattle.” She looked up, brow furrowed, making eye contact with him. “Is everything _really_ okay?”

Chrom opened his mouth, kept it open for a beat, then said, “No.”

Robin’s heart hammered.

“But it’s all what Robin said just now. We’re facing a tough battle, and this is it. Lots of pressure,” he said, voice even. Very even.

Lissa’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints before sighing and letting him go. “I’m choosing to believe you.”

Chrom nodded stiffly. “Right. Thanks.”

Robin had forgotten to breathe. Gods, this was the worst.

Lissa turned toward her and made half hearted shooing motions at Robin’s children. “Make room, kids. Aunt Lissa needs to hug your mom real’ quick.” Her sister in law wrapped her arms around her back and squeezed tight, cuddling Robin in a way that sent her back to the months that followed Emmeryn’s death, Lissa sleeping with her to get through the night terrors.

Shit, that was the wrong thing to think about.

“H-hey, uh, kids?” Lucina and Morgan looked up to Robin as Lissa kissed both their cheeks. Lucina was trying to get away, half embarrassed, her and Lissa were the same age after all, while Morgan smiled and leaned in to it. “I think,” Robin continued, turning to Chrom, “your dad has something to say to you. We talked for a bit about our conversations this morning.”

That got their attention. They pried their hands off of Robin and went over to their father, who took them to the same crates as before, the only secluded part of the deck it seemed. One arm was slung around each of them as he led the two.

Lissa took Robin’s hand and tugged her toward the hatch leading down. “Let’s walk and talk, Sis. Marth and Snowball are neighbors, yeah?”

Down into the hold-turned-aviary they went, boots thumping against timber. This was the smell capital of this ship, stretching to nearly the full length of the vessel, packed with pegasi, wyverns, and the supplies to feed, water, and clean them all. Shepherds and crew were putting the finishing touches on saddles and safety straps, especially for those who were riding double. There were plenty of her people who could fly, but they needed some of their Chon’sin allies to step in as fliers to get every Shepherd up in the air. They weren’t holding anyone back strategically today. This was it. Only enough left behind to sail the ship away from the action so the remaining victors had a ride home.

Lissa scrunched her nose, but soldiered through the sickly floral stench toward their animals, leading her commander by the hand. “So, what were the time kiddos talking with Chrom about?”

It was a bit easier to talk about this. Bittersweet. Robin tried to focus on the sweetness.

“We’re adopting them, officially.”

Lissa stopped, then seemed to vibrate in place before she hugged Robin again, jumping up and down. “Oh my gosh that’s so cute and amazing!” She stepped away, beaming. “We _have_ to celebrate when we get back.”

Another twist of the knife. Robin focused on that sweetness again, seeing Lissa so excited to have these two technical strangers counted among the royal family. She didn’t know it, but Robin was relying on Lissa to carry the emotional weight of the family when she was gone. It was unfair. It would leave lasting pain. It also had to be done.

Back to pretending. “I’m sure we’ll have one eventually, once everything calms down,” said Robin. A mostly true statement. She trusted her and Chrom to not give up. Lissa simply continued beaming, half skipping through the crowd as they finally made their way to their mounts.

There was her boy, long head peeking out above the crowd of soldiers and other animals, ears pointed in her direction. He nickered as he flapped his wide coal black wings, disturbing his hay bed and littered feathers. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she muttered, smiling, offering him an apple from a nearby basket, which he delicately took from her palm with his front teeth.

A few months into her life with the Shepherds, while reviewing battles from Ylisse’s past wars, she noticed the 'dark flier' unit of the Grimlealic Sisterhood. It intrigued her. She asked the core group why there were no dark fliers among the Shepherds’ mages. She got surprised expressions followed by vague answers, usually stemming from the high need for horseflesh among the Falcon Knights, and that pegasi were in high demand in general, with breeding difficulties. Birth defects were common.

That sounded reasonable enough. She asked permission from Central Command to train in it anyway, for herself. Surely one pegasus could be spared for the experiment. That request was denied.

It riled her, but there were other things on her mind, like the existence of the undead. The flier issue didn’t come to mind again until the invasion of Plegia started. The Grimleal were using dark fliers extensively. There was clear strategic merit to fast moving flying mages. She asked again, and was sent into an infuriating cycle of receiving the same rejection from Ylisstol, her replying that their rationale was insufficient, and sending an identical request for pegasi.

Finally, during that first campaign, Miriel took her aside after Robin had ranted about the latest rejection letter at mess hall, garnering uncomfortable looks from most of her comrades. The scientifically minded mage explained that she agreed with her, the rejections weren’t logical, but Ylissians generally thought of the traditional pegasus knight, white fur, lance, gleaming armor, as a symbol of the nation—in opposition to the dark fur, magic, and tight fitting flight uniforms of Plegia. In fact, that’s why they were called _dark_ fliers at all. It was pejorative. Plegians called them pegasus mages, which instantly became one of the few things she preferred about them over Ylisse.

The next engagement, after their victory, Robin marched through the camp they had captured, into their stalls, walked out with a pitch black pegasus by the reins, then announced to everyone gawking at her that his name was Marth and that she was ordering the remaining pegasi to be taken as resources for the Shepherds.

Within a week, she had every female mage under her command training with their very own jet black Plegian pegasus. Her long delayed plan to put male mages on wyverns was moved up to match them. If anyone was tempted to let misplaced patriotism overtake reason and complain about any of it, she promised that Chrom would put them on shit shovel duty. Maribelle tested her on this—once.

Robin looked to the side a few stalls down where Maribelle was gently combing the black mane of her ‘sweet miss.’

Gods, she was going to miss these people.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Sis? Kinda spacing out.”

Robin startled, then sighed and turned up to Lissa, already seated atop her equally black Plegian pegasus. “Nothing much. Just thinking back. Getting caught up in memories,” said Robin.

Lissa nodded, smiling, “Reminiscing before your last deployment?” she asked, voice tinged with fond amusement. “Ah, hey, Keiko,” She looked down at a crew member helping her get strapped in. “Could you tighten around my ankles a bit more? Thanks.”

Three people were helping the healer get secured to the saddle of the ironically named Snowball the Second, making sure Lissa’s legs and waist were triple secured with redundant straps. Midflight adjustment or repair wasn’t an option. They also strapped on a holster for Lissa’s staff, which was filled with magical gems equipped to heal and control positioning on the battlefield, like Physic and Rescue.

Robin hoisted herself up on Marth’s saddle, the beast sighing like a bellows, all of this completely normal for him. Just another flight. “Something like that,” Robin said in delayed reply to Lissa’s question. The princess rolled her eyes, dissatisfied, but even she could feel the time for banter was done. Everyone could hear the thick ropes pulling taut through the deck just above them.

Lissa’s helpers came over to Robin and quickly got the commander strapped to her steed. With just a few tugs of thick leather, heavy fasteners, and secure knots she couldn’t move her legs or adjust her seat on the saddle. The rider and pegasus had become one.

Robin looked far down the hold, where the wyverns were being finished up. Down by the stern, Chrom’s matte armor seemed to soak in the low maglight, barely reflecting anything, but the glow of the Emblem was impossible to miss.

He was already looking at her.

Her breath caught. They held each other’s gaze for a few short moments. He steadied himself upon his enormous scaled mount, staring, soaking her in, a heroine covered in silver.

He nodded. She nodded back.

They were ready. Or as ready as was possible.

Robin closed her eyes and _relaxed_ , focusing on the comfortable, familiar, feeling of the saddle. She sensed all of her friends, her husband, her children, one by one. All ready. All healthy. She sunk deeper into her collective awareness, one of the things that had propelled them thus far, the one good thing Grima had given her—and would now hasten its demise. One by one, she saw hazily through each of her people’s eyes. The line of where her consciousness stopped and theirs began blurred.

Robin was an exceptional strategist. But this was what had enabled their little band to cut to the marrow of the world.

“Open the deck!” she shouted, voice reverberating in the Shepherds’ minds and up through the cargo hatches. Say'ri, manning the bridge above, cupped her hands around her mouth and echoed the order to her people. “Pull!”

Dozens of sailors heaved back against gravity with the help of heavy pulleys, chanting time in Valmese to synchronize their effort. The wood groaned as the deck was split in two down the middle. Thick wooden beams slowly rose together toward the sky, causing the morning sun to stream into the hold. Pegasi and wyverns cried out and flapped their wings, anticipating what would come next. Robin felt Marth tense his flight muscles, eager to start.

“Deploy!”

With one flap and a rush of wind, Robin was sent skyward. Marth sprinted toward the clouds, clearing the crow’s nest almost instantly, and now far enough beyond to make the ship seem like a large toy boat. Robin went temporarily weightless in the saddle as she and the horizon flipped over and over. Marth was enjoying his freedom via loop de loops. She pat his neck. He could have a few moments while everyone else formed up. It was good to see him like this, up here, piercing eastern sunlight warming up his feathers.

She hoped he’d be fine after this.

During a particularly wide and luxurious loop, she looked ‘up’, towards the sea below, and saw two white pegasi and a wyvern steadily rising toward her altitude—her fellow formation captains, Sumia, Cordelia, and Cherche. Following them was a steady stream of her people on pegasus and wyvernback.

Just their lizards left. Robin moved Marth out of his aerial playtime and into a holding pattern so they’d get a good view.

After the last mounted Shepherd cleared the mast, three bright lights gleamed like shimmering diamonds on the deck. A trio of jewel scaled dragons emerged. The Manaketes had activated their dragonstones.

Nowi’s chartreuse draconic body flipped and twirled up toward the rest of their comrades as she whooped and hollered. If it was possible to call the roaring of an enormous razor toothed beast cheerful, this was proof. Her daughter, Nah, covered in a dense array of ruby scales, sighed and simply climbed in a steady predictable arc, her annoyance and thinly veiled affection both easy enough to tell through Robin’s connection. Tiki, noticeably larger than the other two, swayed from side to side, warming up her emerald wings and sleek silver body. If Robin’s eyes saw correctly this far out, it seemed like she was chuckling at her brethren as she flew.

Soon enough, everyone started forming up in standard circling patterns to conserve energy, soldiers lining up behind their captains.

Robin was captaining the ‘bait’ group, full of targets the Grimleal and Risen would frenzy at the sight of. Too bad the enemy’s predictable suicide charges would end with them being crushed to bones and sinew against the overwhelming power of their ‘prey.’ Frederick, Chrom, and Lucina were her front line, with Frederick as the heavy tip of the arrow; Morgan was her heavy artillery mage; Lissa was her indispensable healer and field position mage; Tiki was placed in the rear to serve as bait, with free rein to sink her claws into whoever got close, or douse in flames, her preference. Then there was herself, protected in the center.

She _was_ able to command and fight simultaneously. Had done so many times before. In the final duel against the Hierophant, she would have to. But that wasn’t an option at the battle’s outset. She was coordinating over forty soldiers at once, in three dimensions, against, likely, an enemy force of several hundred. Adding spell and sword work on top of field command would be too much. So, Robin was counting on her immediate group being able to hang back and let their desperate enemy come to them. To take pressure off her so she could coordinate the other three formations effectively.

Sumia and Cordelia's groups had Manakete ‘bait’ as well, Nowi and Nah respectively. Anything they could do to make the chaos of battle work in their favor was good. She was confident both of them could handle the weight of drawing out the enemy, even with the numbers they were expecting. Cherche, meanwhile, was given the, in the axe maiden’s words, ‘honor,’ of being free to kill as many Risen and Grimleal as she and her group could. She was told to take advantage of their enemies’ preoccupations and make good on the high risk in Robin’s strategy to flank, surround, and annihilate any who dared approach Naga’s daughters.

Once the last of them had finished joining their squads, Robin screamed, her voice booming in every Shepherd’s mind. Her frayed emotions seeped into it, powerful enough that all could feel their commander’s white knuckled resolve, even if only two others knew its true weight.

This was it.

Her life must end in victory.

“Advance!”

At the front, Cherche flicked at her wyvern’s reins with a shout and the beast took to her master’s command with gusto, hard leather wings pumping toward the burning island, leading the Shepherds’ diamond formation.

Robin sank almost entirely into her connections, dozens of souls flying through clouds, the wind rushing around their faces, mounts rising and falling with updrafts. The eruption was making the air choppy and unstable. She trusted Marth to fly confidently along with a group he was familiar with, and he did not disappoint.

She leaned forward, hugging his thick neck, pressing her face into his wiry mane. Robin could feel his hammering heartbeat through his carotid artery, powering his mighty wings. Hers was about the same rapid tempo, but only from her anxieties.

Calm yourself.

Breathe in.

And out.

They flew for a few more minutes, the billowing tower of ash and molten rock growing ever closer, Robin trying to center herself all the while.

About ten minutes into their departure from the cargo ship, Cherche’s sharp voice magically cut through the air and into Robin’s mind. “Contact!” Robin sat up in the saddle with a start and focused, seeing through her sub-captain’s eyes.

Origin Peak’s beach was littered with makeshift bunkers made from discarded wood and rock, some of them clearly cannibalized hulls from Plegian transport ships, manned with dozens of undead snipers. Deep gouges in the earth and sand diverted the flowing magma around their positions, creating fiery moats. Above them were a swarm of pegasus mages, wyvern riders, and Risen Valmese armored gryphon riders, the latter likely recently turned to undeath by the few remaining Grimleal after Valm’s defeat at their own hands just a few months ago. Even after all these years, seeing the reanimated mounts still flying despite their visibly decaying muscles and tendons unnerved her.

Cherche’s vision shifted to the mountain, which itself had been altered by the enemy. Snipers were entrenched in small fortifications, the lava’s rapid flow diverted around them to rush toward the boiling sea.

A voice emanated from the center of their formation, placed among them by clever application of wind magic, used to speak at range. The voice was fiery, drawn out like a sword slowly unsheathing, and dripping in hate. A voice Robin recognized.

“Sister,” it said.

With her own eyes, Robin scanned the distant arrangement of Risen pegasus mages. In the center was the sole living person defending that beach.

Aversa. The spitting image of Validar, at least in comparison, despite the two women not being blood related. It was too far away to make out any details besides those provided by memories of previous unwanted encounters, her pallid face, wiry physique, and a scornful default expression, but one thing was clear enough at this long distance. The last remaining Grimleal had drawn her Levin sword and was holding it out, pointing it at her.

“Robin.” She breathed in, air hissing between her grit teeth. “You butchered our father. You abandoned your people. You abandoned your birthright.” Aversa began to shout, the air trembling as it carried her fury. “A birthright that should have been mine! You will know the weight of his regret for you on your broken neck! I will bathe in your blood! Your Exalt’s blood! The blood of Naga’s daughters! The blood of _your_ daughter! The blood of every worm who has blasphemed the world by speaking your name with pride! You will bow your head in the fires of judgement, ‘Queen of Ylisse,’ before the scores of Plegian men and women you have reaped for the sake of a foreign god. The true god of Plegia will take back what is ours and wipe out your miserable excuse for a nation, and—”

A hail of _Mire_ spells, exploding one after another in dark chaotic energy, fell upon forward sniper positions, turning Risen soldiers and their defenses to rotten meat and splinters, exposing many others to immediate second and third volleys from the mages in Sumia and Cordelia’s groups. Cherche, grinning wildly, was already preparing to lead another round of wanton destruction.

Robin had already silently commanded them all to approach within _Mire_ ’s long range and commence the opening bombardment.

From behind her, Lissa let out a terse laugh. “Gods, I’ve wanted you to interrupt one of those for years.” No one else laughed. Frederick, Chrom, and Lucina stared levelly at the carnage, but all three gripped their weapons a touch more tightly. Morgan glanced between his physically distant Grimleal aunt and his mother before returning to military focus. Tiki snorted, satisfied.

Aversa’s shrill roar of frustration coursed through her spell, causing more than a few Shepherds to wince, until it abruptly cut. The Risen fliers suddenly sped towards them, building momentum. They would try to break their lines.

“Charge!” Robin commanded. They needed to meet momentum with momentum. A wave of collective assent hit her as all four divisions pushed toward the enemy. “Fire at will!”

Men and beasts crashed together, leather ripping, armor bending, pegasi and wyverns screaming as the Shepherds tore through the weaker undead horde. The small part of Robin that was watching from her own eyes saw her husband and daughter cleave through animal and revenant alike, teeth grit, silent. Frederick speared a man and threw him off his horse, continuing to push his beast through the enemy’s lines. Her son continued lobbing spells at the beach, keeping snipers from firing on their exposed flanks.

The Shepherds’ swords, spears, and axes passed through waves of animated flesh. Within their own formations, Cordelia and Sumia charged their movements with wind magic and became whirlwinds of death, moving from one enemy to the next, their spears moving faster than the eye could track. Behind her, Robin heard Tiki snarling and roaring, catching pegasi with her talons, burning them to cinders, crushing their limbs, and hurling them to the ocean below.

A minute passed, an eternity in battle. Despite their success, it seemed that for every demonic flier they dispatched two more joined them, starting to approach from the sides and back. In Robin’s own group, Tiki moved from target to target, rapidly killing those trying to approach, but the enemy’s resistance had grown. Robin silently directed her sister-in-law to switch from her staff to the woman’s own master tome. Lissa grunted and obeyed, firing off shearing wind spells to keep pressure off Tiki, breaking the wings of enemy pegasi and wyverns.

Robin was struggling to coordinate everyone’s movements against what felt like a thousand opponents. She felt the pain of an arrow entering Tharja’s shoulder. Severa’s vision was clouded by blood from a head wound. Virion was disoriented by a blow to the gut, relying on his wyvern to follow the formation. Healers were already responding, but all the injuries were starting to add up. Maribelle had to take a moment to heal her own wounds, leaving her group vulnerable. The formations holding Nowi and Nah in the back were also barely keeping their Manaketes from being double and triple-teamed constantly.

As the battle went on for another few minutes, it felt like the power from the initial charge was fading and replaced with uncertainty. They weren’t making progress. The most powerful fighting force in the world couldn’t beat an enemy which was seemingly endlessly replenishing its numbers. Risen could appear from anywhere to initiate battle, but Robin had never seen their forces recover from an initial overwhelming blitz. Whatever was happening was new.

Robin’s mind was like a bird high above it all, looking down at the battle. To those participating, it was a mass of wings and steel and death, but to Robin it was a game board, and her family were the pieces. Aversa was at the edge of the ‘board’, mount holding its place above the sand in a well defended part of the beach. The woman’s body was clouded with purple miasma. Her hands were raised, seeming to pull dozens of Grimleal from the earth to rise and defend her, rising from the sand already saddled and ready to fly. Robin heard her adopted sister screaming, faintly from this far distance. Whatever ritual the last Grimleal was doing, it was pushing her to her own limits.

She flinched. Owain cried out as a sniper’s arrow struck him, fired from the erupting mountain as his group made a wide turn in preparation for another charge.

Robin took that second to observe Origin Peak. Covered in enemies. Snipers releasing volley after volley of arrows from defensive positions created by lava. She looked closer. A large rock fell from the lip at the summit, pushed aside by a new flow. The stream of molten rock shifted, causing the snipers downstream to change their positions.

The magma lake’s surface seemed to be just at the crater’s lip.

Another arrow struck, Cordelia this time. Bad. Her chest. Blood was everywhere. She slumped forward in the saddle.

_Lissa. Rescue._

The healer immediately lifted her hand off her tome and switched to her staff. In a flash of green light, Cordelia and her mount were with them in the commander’s formation. Lissa immediately went to work, muttering to herself as intense light shone out from the gems in her staff, burrowing into Cordelia’s open wounds, repairing and binding flesh back together.

Robin’s mind was split. She was directing the battle; Lon’qu had temporarily taken Cordelia’s place. She was watching one of her most valued soldiers desperately suck in breath as Lissa pulled her out of death’s grip.

She was thinking about the mountain.

That rock.

“Cordelia. Stay with us,” said Robin as her sub-captain fully regained consciousness. “For just a moment. We’ll intercept your group. Then you can rejoin.” The scarlet haired flyer nodded, shaken, but battle hardened enough to press on.

Robin tightened her resolve. She sent out a thought containing a new improvised formation. Heavies on the outside and underneath the front line; front line would be mixed between intercepting strikers and artillery mages; healers were told to give it their all, since the new strategy would leave them in one location and therefore more vulnerable.

Then, an image. Their new formation ringing the mountain’s peak, mages pounding it with magic. Rocks exploding. Lava gushing out of the mountain, pouring from the lip of the volcano like an overfilled cake pan spewing batter in an oven, covering the entire island. Risen burning. All their defenses destroyed.

You can’t defend a mountain if there’s no mountain to defend, and you can’t raise the undead from the earth if there’s no earth to raise them from.

She spoke. “We’re going to destroy Origin Peak.”

Silence. A moment of disbelief.

Vaike started laughing. “Yeah, let’s kill ‘em all, my dudes!”

Frederick speared another Risen through the face as he sighed, then smiled.

A new energy filled the Shepherds as, in lockstep with Robin’s mind, they retreated for a moment to regroup as all their units shifted to create one enormous formation. Robin, densely surrounded by those she loved, ordered them forward.

As expected, a cloud of arrows met them as they approached the mountain’s lip, some finding their marks, men, women, and animals faltering for a moment before Lissa, Maribelle, Libra, or another’s healing light surrounded and lifted them back up to strength.

Robin shouted, “Attack!”

The Shepherds’ mages unleashed every ounce of energy they could muster against the ancient stone and rock. This wasn’t a long distance volley of _Mire_. They were close enough to reach for their most powerful tomes. Everyone could feel the heat of _Valflame_ , overwhelming that of the magma itself, the crack and overwhelming boom of _Mjölnir_ , the tornadic wind of _Excalibur_ that threw unlucky Risen into an early fiery grave. Their three god lizards opened their maws wide and spewed out hot jets of fire and white magical energy. Robin watched with pride as Morgan threw a ball of fire three times his size toward the rocks.

As they spun around the mountain, she could see the face crumbling, rivulets of magma starting to flow. But more and more of her people were being injured by arrows and encroaching flyers. There wasn’t much time.

Swerving and dodging enemy spells and arrows, Robin and Marth flew toward the front, desperate to end the battle. Grima’s forsaken daughter tensed. She put her off-hand on her master tome as she drew her Levin sword, fingertips sparking, electricity dancing up the blade. Robin thrust her sword toward the mountain and unleashed _Thoron_. The air shook as a crack of thunder burst out from the sword’s tip. Marth threw his wings open to brace against the immense power his rider was pouring out of her body. Page after intricately crafted page of her master tome smoked and burned as she gave her all, pulling as much magic as possible from between its bindings. Sweat poured down her face as she screamed. Lightning turned the earth to ash.

For a moment, nothing happened. Everyone took a breath.

Pressurized magma spewed out from a violent fracture in the middle of the mountain’s face. Everything started to come down. The mountain’s lip weakened and crumbled. House sized rocks tumbled down the cliffside. Risen, forgetting for a moment they were already dead, braced themselves against the rockfall. Lava rushed down on every side. Every sniper was swallowed by fire. Lava soon reached the beach, burying enemy positions in molten rock.

Soon all that was left was Aversa, still distantly screaming. But not distant for long, however. She slapped the reins of her pegasus and sprinted toward them through the air.

Robin turned away from the mountain and had Marth calmly fly toward their new front line, toward her sister. She had immediately set her people on eliminating the remaining Risen flyers, heavies and mages alike. With no sniper support from the island to pressure the Shepherds, they were simple targets for her own archers, who could dispose of them at their leisure.

Virion, recovered from his injury, lined up a shot at Robin’s silent command and released a single volley. Aversa’s pegasus faltered, then its wings went slack. An arrow had pierced its heart. The screaming Grimleal mage and her pegasus went into freefall.

“Ha! Bullseye!” the foppish archer said, a pleased lilt on his exclamation.

Robin sent a mute word of thanks his way, then slowly spiraled down on Marth, with the rest of the Shepherds following at a close enough distance. Master and beast touched down close by the island’s new magma river. The lava would soon overtake this position, but for now it was just burning tropical forest.

There Aversa lay, on her side, half her body broken, leg and hips crushed under the weight of her dead pegasus. Some of her limbs were at odd angles. A branch had gone through a lung. But the woman was still alive. Desperately healing herself with whatever passed for light magic among the Grimleal. She looked up at Robin, seething, but unable to speak. Her jaw was broken.

Robin took in the sight in greater detail. The woman’s face was grayer than she remembered from last they met. Perhaps a long term cost of dark magic. Her nose was running freely with blood, and had for a while based on the caked stains on her clothes, older than the fresh blood from her new wounds. She could see the veins in her sister’s face, darkened and sickly. That part didn’t look like someone who was dying from battle injuries, though that seemed close behind. It looked like someone who had botched a dark ritual. Someone who asked for too much and would pay for it with whatever their body had.

Realization dawned.

“You sacrificed your life to power that spell,” muttered Robin. “To summon more Risen.”

Aversa’s eyes were fixed on Robin’s. She gurgled in an attempt to scream.

Robin continued looking at her.

Aversa stopped healing herself, wrenched her remaining usable hand to her visibly damaged dark tome, and cried out indistinctly.

The encroaching inferno roared, the flames reflecting orange in Robin’s silver armor. A tree cracked and toppled over.

Nothing happened.

Tears fell down Aversa’s face.

Robin approached her sister, gently guiding Marth closer. She unclipped her sword, put her off-hand on her tome, then pointed her crooked blade down toward the woman’s head.

“See you soon,” she said.

Robin started to pull _Thoron_ from the remaining pages, lightning gathering along the magisteel sword, but then stopped abruptly.

 _Something_ was here.

Her own face appeared in her left periphery, upside down, grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks. Thanks very much for your patience, those of you who read and responded to that first chapter. Wow, how the world can change in two months, huh? This isn't the way I'd panned on spacing out my first and second chapters, but I had to do some necessary life things that took up a lot of time I would have rather spent writing. Again, like I said last time, I think many of you can understand and sympathize.
> 
> Apologies to those of you who might have clicked in on this a few minutes after I posted. I clicked 'post' too early and the Aversa battle was missing. Oops.
> 
> Leave a kudo if you'd like to, and haven't already.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading! See you in the comments.


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